


Downtime

by breeisonfire



Series: TAG prompt fics [6]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 03:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10867797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breeisonfire/pseuds/breeisonfire
Summary: "19/20/37/131/131 with Gordon, Alan & Virgil while he is painting?"





	Downtime

**Author's Note:**

> 19\. “And that’s how you ruin a life. Congratulations.”
> 
> 20\. “D..did you just make that noise?”
> 
> 37\. “Where did he go?”
> 
> 131\. “Are you doodling?”
> 
> 131\. “Are you doodling?”

The thing about being part of an elite rescue team is that there’s very rarely any down time. You learn to seize the time that you can, to fit in what you need to do to decompress. Do a few laps, meditate, take a quick hike, kill a few zombies, play ominous music on the piano, prank your brothers - whatever it was that helped you keep grounded.

They’re so used to this routine that when they do get more than the usual twelve hour rest period off, they don’t know what to do with themselves. Scott usually throws himself into his work; John will research. Brains tinkers with things, Grandma cooks and tries to get everyone to clean. No one actually knows what Kayo does, though Virgil knows this is just because she thinks it’s funny to be mysterious.

Virgil’s an artist at heart. Even engineering is art, just with different tools and applications, and it’s that feeling of _creating_ that gives him a sense of peace. Not purpose; he gets that hole filled plenty when he’s on duty. No, this is done purely for the emotions he can feel and work with when creating. This is how he vents, how he gets that sense of clear thinking, when he takes a step back, lets the inspiration flow through him, and just _exists_.

Virgil’s become accustomed to having to work on pieces periodically. Any one painting can take months, occasionally changing midway through, things being added here and there, a constant record of just how chaotic life as an operative of International Rescue can get. He’ll come into his studio at random and add a few strokes, some shading. Sometimes he’ll just frown at it. He doesn’t usually have time to do more than a few minutes before he needs to eat, sleep, or work.

But today? No rescues, John’s down from Five, MAX is distracting Grandma from burning the kitchen down, Scott’s on a satellite conference call with some people from Tracy Industries. He’s caught up on maintenance on Thunderbird Two, they have all the supplies they need. Miraculously, there’s nothing to do and nowhere that needs him. So today?

Today, he paints.

He’s very particular about his studio, with good reason. There’s plenty of light, natural as well as artificial. The ceilings are high and give the room an airy feeling, which is nice when Virgil’s feeling weighed down or claustrophobic. It’s mostly soundproof, because sometimes Virgil’s in the mood to listen to music while painting and others he wants silence. There’s two couches, a chair, a mini fridge, and _lots_ of canvas. Not to mention the sheer amount of paints that he’s amassed, or the amount of half-finished and finished works that sit in the room at random. There’s drop cloth spread out all over the floor. He’s not particularly a messy painter; sometimes he’s working on something big and so needs it, but often times it’s there just in case. He’d rather use unnecessary drop cloth than face the wrath of their grandmother come spring cleaning time.

He’s dressed in casual, old, comfortable clothes, his music is playing quietly, and plenty of natural light is shining into the room. The room smells of paint, and his most recent painting is up on his easel and ready to be worked on.

In other words, it’s heaven.

Unfortunately, there’s something he’s forgotten to consider. Or rather, _two_ things.

The Terrible Two, as they’ve been called since Alan could walk, are often good at amusing themselves and each other when they want to be. They’re still both kids, even if Gordon adamantly denies the fact, and are almost always restless, but they have their own things that they stick to when they have downtime.

But sometimes, this isn’t enough, especially after things have been hectic. Recently, Gordon’s had way too many close calls, with the Mechanic and Fischler both acting up, and none of them are quite sure what’s up with Alan, but it’s become apparent he’s sleeping less. So really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise.

And yet.

Virgil gets no warning before Gordon dramatically throws himself down on the couch in his studio and announces, “Paint me like one of your French girls.”

Virgil just blinks at him, abruptly jarred from his thoughts. It takes him a few moments to catch up. By the time he has, Gordon’s already moving to sit up, letting out a long sigh.

“He’s in the zone,” Gordon says, looking at the door. Virgil follows his gaze to see Alan hanging off the doorway and rolls his eyes.

“Not anymore, I’m not,” he says, somewhat grumpily. “What do you guys want?”

“Entertain me,” Gordon says, now upside down on the couch.

“No.”

Gordon opens his mouth to say something, but loses his balance and falls. He squawks on his way down, disappearing from Virgil’s view as he hits the ground. Virgil peeks around his canvas to look at him, lying in a heap on the floor.

“You okay?” he asks.

Gordon just makes a grumpy noise that sounds remarkably like an angry kitten. Virgil can’t help but snort as Alan leans over the back of the couch.

“D..did you just make that noise?” he asks, clearly trying not to laugh.

“No,” Gordon says, almost pouting. Alan reaches down and pats him on the head, which only makes him pout even more. Virgil ducks behind his canvas.

“Why are you two in here?” he asks after he manages to get control of himself.

“Bored,” Gordon says.

“Go bother John,” Virgil says, tilting his head to look at his painting. Something’s not right…

“John is currently Not In The Mood,” Alan says, stressing the words. Virgil grimaces, because he knows exactly what Alan means. John doesn’t do downtime well, and he gets snippy. He doesn’t mean harm by it, but it’s better to leave him alone when it happens. He’ll come find them in a few hours, once he’s recharged a bit, and apologize.

“Kayo?” Virgil suggests. He’ll bribe her to take them off his hands, he is not afraid to play dirty.

“Ran Grandma to the mainland,” Gordon says. “Supposedly to meet up with Lady Penelope and Parker, but I know they’re at a premiere tonight, so I think it’s just to get away from us.”

“I don’t blame them,” Virgil sighs. Scott’s working, as always, so that leaves, “Brains?”

“He is so far into his work he’s not speaking English,” Alan says. “All that’s coming out is equations.”

That’s...something to worry about, sometime soon. But also not surprising. He’ll have to go check on him soon. But that leaves him with the Terrible Two. Although, they’re honestly not looking that terrible at the moment. Gordon’s bouncing his leg, clearly on edge, and Alan’s got dark circles under his eyes.

Whatever. He can deal. They’re not _that_ much trouble and besides, they’ve done this before. Alan and Gordon often seek him out, although he’s never had both at the same time in his studio. Still.

“Fine,” he relents. “But please be quiet.”

“No promises,” Gordon says, giving finger guns. Virgil wants to be annoyed, but can’t quite reach it. Alan drops to sit down on the couch next to Gordon and Virgil is able to concentrate on his painting again.

For a while, anyway. He’s brought out of his thoughts almost a half an hour later (longer than he’d honestly thought they’d last) when he hears a crash. He nearly has a heart attack as he looks around wildly for the cause of the crash and finds Gordon and Alan on the floor, the former having tackled the latter to the ground. Nothing is broken, they haven’t touched any of his things, but they’re getting worryingly close to one of his favorite paintings, one he’d done not too long ago in between long rescues. It’s a visual representation of the relief he’d felt after all of them had come home after some of the more intense rescues and he can just _see_ his brothers’ eyes glazing over as he tried to explain that, so instead he just says, “Be careful, please, guys.”

That’s when Alan’s elbow bumps the easel it’s sat on and for a second Virgil thinks it’s going to be fine, but then it tips. It hits the ground with a thump.

Virgil’s up and over there before it even fully settles on the ground. Distantly, he can hear Gordon saying, “And that’s how you ruin a life. Congratulations.”

He picks the canvas gingerly and looks it over, but it looks to be totally fine. No smudges, scratches, or holes - he hadn’t really expected there to be, but he was protective of his work.

“Sorry, Virgil,” Alan says as Virgil goes to stand up. He sounds so guilty - and Virgil’s ‘big brother’ senses start to go off, because there’s way too much guilt in his voice for it to be over just this painting, _something else is going on_.

But he just takes a deep breath and says, “It’s okay. Nothing’s broken. Just, please, be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” they echo in unison, and Virgil sighs as he goes back to his painting. He can hear Alan and Gordon sitting down on the couch again, hears them start to bicker quietly. And then he doesn’t hear anything for a while.

Then, he hears Gordon whisper, “Are you doodling?”

Not five minutes later, he hears Alan whisper back, “Are _you_ doodling?”

He sneaks a look at the two of them to see them both sitting on the floor, the coffee table between them, each with a piece of paper and a pencil. They’re both staring at their papers intently and Virgil honestly wants a picture to keep, partially because he somehow managed to get the two of them to sit _still_ and needs photographic evidence, and partially because it’s peaceful and quiet and neither of his brothers look like anything’s bothering them for the time being. It’s nice.

He goes back to his painting and loses himself in it for a while. A _long_ while. Long enough that when he hears a muted thud and a swear, he almost manages to ignore it. At least until he hears Alan snickering.

He leans out again, but can only see Alan, who’s leaning over the back of the couch. Gordon’s nowhere to be found, which is suspicious.

“Where did he go?” Virgil asks, causing Alan to lean over and start laughing harder. Virgil’s lost until another head comes into view. Gordon’s head, which is entirely covered in purple paint.

Virgil can’t help it. He starts laughing, though he tries desperately to hide that fact from Gordon, trying to seem stern. “You better not have got any of that on the floor.”

Gordon doesn’t open his mouth, probably worried about getting paint in it, and just shakes his head. Alan helpfully looks over the back of the couch and says, “No, it’s all on the drop cloth. You’re gonna need more purple paint, though.”

Virgil waves a hand, still trying to keep a straight face. “I’ll get more. Gordon, you, uh, you okay?”

He gets a murderous glare in response, but the purple paint makes it so hard to take him seriously, and Virgil loses it. It’s no use trying to fight it.

It takes him about ten minutes to calm down and Alan’s right there with him, though Gordon looks more likely to kill them both. Every time they look at him, covered in purple, they lose it again, and it’s like this that John finds them.

“Hey, Alan, Gordon, I - what are you covered in?”

“Paint,” Virgil manages to get out as Alan dissolves into laughter yet again at the look on John’s face.

By now, the paint’s dried enough that Gordon’s not worried about paint dripping in his mouth, and he says, “These two yahoos are _no help_ , Johnny, come on, I can’t get paint on the floor or Virgil might set Grandma on me. Help me out?”

“Don’t call me Johnny,” is all John says.

“ _John_ ,” Gordon whines.

“From what I can see, it looks like you got yourself in this mess,” John says, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. “How long until the paint dries, Virgil?”

“About an hour or so,” Virgil says.

“Plenty of time for you to figure something out,” John says. Gordon looks murderous all over again, which sets Alan off once more, and Virgil’s having to fight it as John comes and stands next to Virgil.

It’s barely five minutes later when Scott knocks on the door. Virgil watches as he comes in and takes in the scene - Gordon still covered in purple, Alan on the floor by now, still laughing, Virgil and John standing behind the easel - and waits for him to say something.

Scott doesn’t even miss a beat as he says, “Purple is not your color,” to Gordon, sending Alan back to the floor, before turning to John and Virgil.

“Kayo called,” he says. “Grandma’s got plans for a big family dinner tonight, so we have to figure something out quick before they get back. Any ideas?”

“I could fire up the grill,” Virgil says, still fighting a smile.

“Yes! Hamburgers, please!” Alan says, sitting up.

“ _I’ll_ fire up the grill,” Scott says. “You should go bring Brains back down to Earth.”

“F-A-B,” Virgil says, wiping his hands on a cloth.

“I’ll make a salad,” John says.

“Need a hand, Gordon?” Alan asks innocently. Gordon glares, and when Scott turns away, flips the youngest off. Alan smirks, and Virgil has the feeling he should get moving before it turns ugly, except it’s his studio, and he’ll be damned if he lets anything happen to it.

“Alan, go get the meat out,” Scott says, clearly reading his mind.

“But -.’

“ _Alan_ ,” Scott says. Alan pouts, but heads out the door. Virgil gives Scott a grateful look before following. As he walks away, he can hear Scott say, “And _how_ did you get covered in paint?”

His phone goes off just then and he pulls it out to see John’s sent him a picture of Gordon, covered in paint. He can hear Alan laughing again from the stairs.

He’s grinning all the way down to Brains’ lab.


End file.
